Sale of the century
by Daniella T
Summary: What if the attempt to escape from Nuñez hadn't succeeded, and Bass and Miles had, indeed, been put up "for sale"?


Sale of the century

_Daniella says: What if the attempt to escape from Nuñez hadn't succeeded, and Bass and Miles had, indeed, been put up "for sale"?_

It took all of Miles's self-control to not wrap his hands around Connor's neck when the lad came to announce that the auction Nuñezhad organised for the sale of him and Bass would take place the following morning. Connor had been his usual cocky self – and Bass had been silent. But Miles had a word or two to say.

"This will not end here, Connor. I'm coming after you, even if your dad isn't."

"Yeah?" snorted Connor. "Kinda hard to do that from a Texas jail, not to mention a Mexican one. Trust me, I've seen the inside of Mexican jails. You'd better hope for Texas to get their hands on you first."

Connor pushed a plate of bread and beans through the bars.

"Eat up, fellas. You're gonna need your strength tomorrow," he said. "Who knows, maybe the buyer will not kill you outright."

Miles looked closely at Connor. The kid was trying to appear nonchalant, uncaring, but Miles could see that he was anything but - Connor was scared. When Miles spoke again, his voice was softer.

"Don't do this, Connor. Help us. Come with us. There is no future for you here."

Connor shook his head, and suddenly Miles saw despair in his eyes.

"I've got no choice, Miles. Eat up."

He turned on his heel and left. Miles dropped down on the floor. Bass still hadn't spoken. He was staring ahead. He was still wearing the same shirt, the cloth stained with his blood. The scars on his back were starting to scab, but still hurt like crazy when the skin was pulled. So he preferred to sit still, as much as possible.

Miles passed him a piece of bread topped with beans.

"Here. It's probably worse than shit, but it's the only food we'll get."

"Maybe later," said Bass indifferently.

"Come on, Bass!" said Miles in frustration.

Reluctantly, Bass cut off a small piece of bread, chewed it. Miles did the same, his scowl deepening.

"Bastards! Isn't it enough that they sell us? Do they need to starve us too?"

He slammed his fist on the floor in anger.

"We ran the Monroe Militia, Bass! And now we're being sold as chattel!"

Bass looked at his friend.

"Miles, I need you to do me a favour. I want you to do me a favour."

Miles stared at Bass in disbelief.

"You really think this is a good time to ask me for a favour, Bass?"

"Miles. Please. Listen to me."

His voice was breaking. Miles had never heard him like this. Even when they had dragged him back to the cell, his back torn to shreds, he had been cool, collected. Now he was falling apart.

"What is it, Bass?"

When Bass started speaking, his voice was so low that Miles had to strain to hear him.

"When they came to take me to Nuñez, I made a promise to myself. Well, actually two, to be honest," he added, with the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I promised myself that I wouldn't ask Nuñez for mercy. But I also promised myself that, no matter what happened, I wouldn't hold it against Connor."

He paused for a second.

"I want you to promise me that you will do the same. You will not hold this against Connor."

He reached over, took Miles's hand into his.

"Promise me, Miles!"

Miles had a scathing retort on his lips. But one look at Bass's eager, troubled face, made him change his mind.

"Okay," he said simply.

"Thank you," nodded Bass.

He turned to the slice of bread with the beans again.

"Not bad, eh?"

When Nuñez's men came to get them in the morning, Miles and Bass were already on their feet, standing with their heads held high, as ready to face the Mexican drug lords, as they had faced the enemies of the militia – together.

The sun was blinding. As they stepped outside the holding pen, onto the makeshift stage Nuñez had set up, Bass and Miles had to shield their eyes from the blaze. But no amount of shielding could stop them from seeing the circus that the Nuñez cartel had set up. Seats had been placed in a semi-circle, and they were filled by a sea of hat-wearing honchos – Mexican sombreros clashing with Texas broad-brimmed cowboy hats. They even spied a couple of rednecks from the Plains Nation. And in the middle of the stage, Nuñez, with Connor at his side, was busy advertising his wares.

Miles cocked an eyebrow.

"Like Black Friday at Kmart," he muttered.

"And we're the hottest sale item," added Bass.

"Welcome to the sale of the century!" Nuñez was proclaiming, opening his arms in a welcoming move. "Who hasn't heard of the fearsome duo that terrorised what used to be the Monroe Republic? Who hasn't heard of General Sebastian Monroe and his faithful sidekick, Miles Matheson, the butcher of Baltimore?"

"Guess he doesn't know I tried to kill you," whispered Miles to Bass.

Bass shrugged.

"Water under the bridge."

"How much are they worth to you, gentlemen? How much are you willing to pay for these prisoners?"

"Show us their scars!" yelled a prospective buyer – a big Texan, his face red in the sun.

Connor grabbed Bass's arm, made to tear away the cloth he kept wrapped around his wrist where the Monroe Militia tattoo was.

"Hey. Hands off," said Bass firmly, taking the cloth kerchief off himself. Miles threw down his jacket, rolled up his sleeve. He nodded at Bass. They both raised their arms in the air, the stark M there for all to see.

"You've seen the proof, gentlemen," bellowed Nuñez. "So how much? How much are these warlords worth to you?"

The big Texan got up.

"As I already told you, Señor Nuñez, Texas has a right to these fugitives. Monroe was actually supposed to be executed in Texas!"

"Not my problem if you screwed up his execution," said Nuñez with a dismissive gesture. "You want Monroe, you have to pay for him."

"What if we only want one of them?" yelled someone.

"If Texas buys Monroe, what good is Matheson to Mexico?" asked someone else.

Miles and Bass looked at each other. It could've been funny, if it wasn't so serious. Miles leaned closer to whisper to his friend.

"Bass, for what it's worth, I hope we stay together."

_To be continued_


End file.
